


Clapping

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 12:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis calls an important meeting.





	Clapping

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV, VIII, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“I’ve called you all here for a very important reason,” Noctis starts, which immediately tells Ignis that he shouldn’t have bothered clearing his Saturday for this. He frowns across the small plastic table as the waitress finishes writing down the last of their orders and wanders off. The sound of her high heels is eaten up in the general hum of the restaurant, busy and bustling with the usual breakfast crowd. It’s telling that Noctis looks so awake for eleven a.m. on a Saturday—if this actually involved his duties or studies, he’d still be grumbling about having been dragged out of bed.

Sitting next to Noctis, Prompto looks perfectly chipper. That’s surprising, given that Ignis is fairly confident that Noctis skipped last night’s council meeting just to stay up all night gaming with Prompto. At Ignis’ side, Gladiolus is as awake and ready as Ignis is. The two of them wait patiently for Noctis’ explanation, but Prompto chirps, “What is it, already? You’re killing me here!”

“Well, I wanted to tell you all together, so I’ve got witnesses to your betrayal if you run off and do it without me.”

“Do _what_?”

Noctis turns to Prompto and dips his voice into the sort of awe and respect he only gives to fictional things. “Only the biggest news in Final Eight history... a life-size statue of Rinoa!”

Prompto physically reels back in his seat. Gladiolus whistles. Even Ignis feels a twinge of interest, though he does his best to contain his instinctive reaction to limited edition video game memorabilia. _Someone_ has to be the responsible one, after all. He dryly asks, “And how much does this cost, exactly?” Prompto wilts again—obviously, such a thing must be incredibly expensive, and as tempted as he is, Ignis isn’t about to let Noctis drain the royal coffers over nerd swag.

But Noctis just smirks, settling back in his seat and looking for all the world like he wants to put his muddy feet up on the table. “That’s just the thing. It’s _free_.”

Gladiolus says what Ignis is thinking: “Bullshit.”

“It is! There’s a different catch... you gotta win it. Balamb Comics Club is hosting a reopening party on Saturday, with all sorts of contests and prizes.”

Now vacillating between excitement and disappointment, Prompto prods, “And what’s the contest for the Rinoa statue?”

Some of Noctis’ casual air slips away. He straightens up again, donning his more serious face. “Well, that’s why I all called you here. It’s two hundred to enter, so probably only one of us is gonna do it... and we gotta make sure it’s the person most likely to win. I think it’s me, but I want a second and third, hey, even forth opinion to make sure.”

“Why are you most likely to win?”

“Because it’s a twerking contest, and I’ve got the best ass.”

Ignis blinks. He stares at Noctis, waiting for the punch line, but Noctis still looks dead serious. A few conspicuously quiet seconds pass, then Gladiolus starts laughing. Ignis hisses, “Hush,” at him before they draw any unwanted attention.

“Wait,” Prompto scoffs, jumping in before Ignis can come down on Noctis like a falling piano. “Why do _you_ have the best ass? Do you have any idea how hard I worked for this body?”

Gladiolus’ laughter starts up again. Noctis shrugs. “I know, and hey, you look great, but... c’mon, Prom; you’re tiny! You’ve hardly got any ass. And Ignis is a beanpole; he’s totally flat back there! And Gladiolus has a huge one, but he’s so muscular there’s no way that shit’ll move the way it needs to for twerking—”

Gladiolus’ laughter cuts off. “Hey—!”

Ignis isn’t even offended about having his rear insulted; he’s too busy spluttering over Noctis’ stupidity. He leans across the table to quietly hiss, “This is a completely inappropriate place to have this discussion.” Not that he’d want to have it anywhere else or at all. Noctis shifts uncomfortably.

“I know, but I wanted pancakes...”

“I could’ve made you pancakes at home.”

“Yeah, but you would’ve hidden vegetables in them...”

There are no bounds to Ignis’ exasperation. Pouting, Prompto interjects, “I think I can twerk... I mean, I don’t have a lotta practice, but it can’t be that hard...”

Dismissing Ignis, Noctis turns to Prompto. “Yeah, but I can probably do _better_ , right? I’ve got more ‘junk in the trunk,’ and it’ll bounce more... I _really_ wanna make sure we win...”

Prompto doesn’t look convinced. But he diplomatically turns to the rest of the table and suggests, “How about we go back to Noct’s place after and have a twerk off? You guys can decide which of us is better.”

Gladiolus grunts, “Sure,” sounding on the brink of another laughing fit. Ignis can feel his life spinning wildly out of control.

He knows Noctis. He can see the determined gleam in Noctis’ eyes and knows it’s too late to turn him back. That only leaves one option for stopping the scandal of the century. 

With a deep breath, Ignis lies through his teeth: “There’s no need; I’m quite sure Prompto is the better... twerker.”

“Yeah!” Prompto cheers, somehow looking genuinely happy to hear that. Noctis just looks betrayed. 

“But—”

“Noct, you have no rhythm, everyone knows that. Whereas Prompto is actually quite a skilled dancer. I’m sure he has a far better chance of... respecting... the beat.”

Noctis wrinkles his nose and turns to Gladiolus, who opens his mouth. Ignis pointedly kicks him under the table, and Gladiolus jolts but otherwise manages to hide his reaction. Ignis is infinitely relieved when he proves loyal. “Sorry, princess. Iggy’s got a point.”

It blows Ignis’ mind that Noctis looks sincerely put out by this turn of events. But he must really want that prize, because he sullenly agrees, “Okay. We’ll enter Prompto, if you really think he has a better chance...”

“Don’t worry, bud,” Prompto chimes, nudging his shoulder. “I’ll shake it so good they’ll feel the quaking all the way in Altissia.”

Gladiolus loses his shit again. Noctis seems to perk up. The waitress shows up with their orders, and Ignis prays there’s poison in his so he doesn’t have to deal with his friends for a single minute longer.


End file.
